And Then There Were Three
by Twin28
Summary: John and Sherlock are starting their life together and want to adopt a baby! A continuation of my story "When it's Unexpected". It is not necessary to read that first, though it will help as I reference it quite a few times.
1. The Inspection

_A/N: Sorry it took so long for me to write this! Final Exams are kicking my ass! If anyone can guess why the Social Services lady's last name in this is "Smith" then props to you! Here's a hint: OO-WEE-OO! OO-WEE-OO! :) Yeah, not too difficult. Please review and tell me what you think!_

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And Then There Were Three

Chapter 1: The Inspection

John awoke that Friday morning completely happy and content. The early rays of the sun streamed through the window blinds and little birds chirped soft songs. He was ready to start the day, but realized his alarm hadn't gone off. Oh, that's right. He had the day off today. He had taken off for-

Shit.

John jumped out of bed so fast the room spun around him. He went to walk forward to turn the light on, but he was tangled in sheets. He took one step forward, tripped, and fell flat on his face on the wooden floor. The sheets followed John's path to the ground leaving Sherlock without blankets. The Consulting Detective mumbled something in his sleep, and rolled over, shivering. John spent a few minutes untangling himself from the assortment of quilts and, once free, turned to wake his still sleeping husband. He placed a hand on the tall man's shoulder and shook him gently, but urgently.

"Sherlock…" Sherlock groaned in response.

"Go away John, I'm trying to sleep…" Sherlock rolled over and shoved his head into a pillow. John sighed, feeling like a mother waking her lazy five-year-old.

"Sherlock, you have to get up. We have-" Sherlock cut him off.

"Is the house on fire?" Sherlock spoke into his pillow, so John had to strain to hear him.

"What?"

"Is. The. House. On. Fire?" He said, lifting his head slightly out of the cotton, only to let it fall back down on the mattress when he was finished being rude.

"Wha- No! Sherlock-"

"Then why are you waking me up? We've discussed this; unless my wellbeing is in danger, you shouldn't keep me from sleep. Despite the fact that this is simply transport for something far more important, you have told me many times that I need to 'start taking care of it'. So that's what I am trying to do, and what you are currently keeping me from doing." John just blinked.

"Sherlock, today the woman from social services is coming over! Today is our inspection!" Sherlock appeared not to have heard John, but in the time it took to blink, he was jumping out of the bed and heading towards their closet to get changed. However, all did not go as planned. He strode forward confidently, only to step on the blankets John had just shed. They slid across the floor, sending the world's only Consulting Detective to the ground, limbs sprawled out in all directions. John instinctively jumped back to avoid damage to himself, but just as quickly reached forward to peel his husband off the floor.

"Are you alright?" He asked, checking Sherlock for damage.

"Transport, John." Sherlock reminded him, brushing himself off with as much dignity as he could muster after becoming one with the floor. "It doesn't matter." He walked forward purposely to the closet to change, this time making it without any casualties. He quickly disrobed and pulled his purple button-up off of its hanger.

"What's going to happen during this… inspection?" Sherlock spit out the word like it was an expletive. John sighed and pulled on a pair of dress trousers.

"This is just the first inspection-"

"You mean there's more?!" Sherlock asked loudly, buttoning up his shirt. John rolled his eyes.

"We've been through this before Sherlock. There are two inspections-" Sherlock cut him off.

"When's the next one?" John sighed.

"I'm not sure. We'll find out after today." Sherlock looked at is reflection in the mirror and straightened his collar.

"What's going to happen today?" If John hadn't known better, he would've said Sherlock was worried. John walked out of the closet and grabbed the hairbrush, pulling it through his tangled sandy colored hair.

"Just general stuff. Inspections of the rooms to make sure it's fit to have a child in the house. Oh, and we're going to be asked some questions from the packet we filled out a while ago." Sherlock followed his husband around the room as he spoke and shook his head.

"There's no reason to ask us those questions twice." Sherlock moaned. John just looked at him, and Sherlock plopped down on their bed. "Alright, I know it's so they can tell if we're lying, but still! We're us! Why would we lie about anything?" Sherlock fell back against his pillow; John moved him strategically around the mattress as he made the bed around the lump of Consulting Detective. He knew it wouldn't be worth it to ask him to get up.

_Bring!_

The doorbell.

Sherlock watched as John froze for a half a second, then straightened up, his hands griping tight to the bed sheets.

"That will be them. The social service." John said, breathing deeply through his nose to calm himself. Sherlock stood up, careful not to wrinkle the blankets, and offered his hand to his husband.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked, giving John's hand a squeeze.

"Ready."

John and Sherlock opened the door to 221b Baker Street, Sherlock holding tight to John's left hand. A short and rather plump woman greeted them. She was wearing a neatly pressed white blouse, with a matching black skirt and blazer. Sherlock looked her over once, and John watched his facial expression closely. The woman smiled at them.

"Is this the Watson-Holmes residence?" John looked at Sherlock for a moment longer, and when Sherlock didn't react badly to the woman in front of him, he smiled back at her.

"Yes, hello. Yes it is." The social worker stepped through the doorway into their living room and held out her hand.

"I'm Alexandra Smith, from Social Services." John shook her hand, then Sherlock.

"I'm John, and this is Sherlock." Sherlock nodded at Ms. Smith and gestured to the chair beside them.

"Please, have a seat Ms. Smith." She sat down in the chair and Sherlock and John sat side by side on the couch opposite her. They held hands and looked expectantly at the social worker. Alexandra Smith fumbled around in a large bag for a moment, before pulling out a manila folder. She pulled a few pages out of the folder along with a pencil then faced the nervous couple.

"There's no need to be anxious." Ms. Smith said, smiling. "I'm just asking you a few questions. You've already answered them at any rate." She looked down at her paper and adjusted her glasses.

"Now, have either of you been married before this?"

"No." John said.

"John is the only one for me." Sherlock said confidently. John's face reddened a little but he squeezed his husband's hand affectionately. Ms. Smith shuffled her papers in her lap again.

"Okay, and neither of you have a history of substance abuse…" She mumbled to herself and marked something down.

"Sorry?" John asked, looking at Sherlock and frowning. Ms. Smith looked up and smiled reassuringly at them.

"Oh don't worry. We have it written down that Mr. Holmes-Watson smoked cigarettes at one time, but that doesn't make you ineligible to adopt." Sherlock and John shared a quick glance, but had the sensibility not to press the issue. Sherlock _had_, at one point in his life, been addicted to illegal substances. It wasn't a secret. John had found out about it almost as soon as he met Sherlock when Greg had searched the flat under the pretense of a drugs bust. How could Social Services not know anything about it?

The questions continued for about an hour more with no problems, until:

"Alright, now I just need to know what your childhood was like. How did your parents treat you? How do you think that will affect your parenting?" Ms. Smith wrote something down on the paper than looked at John and Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. John noticed and started speaking first.

"Uh, my childhood wasn't bad…"

"Please Mr. Watson-Holmes; don't feel like there is any right or wrong answer. I just need to know." John nodded and cleared his throat.

"Dad drank a lot, and though he wasn't abusive in the sense that he beat any of us, it did affect his… I guess, his ability to love us. We could never really be perfect in his eyes. This caused my sister, Harry, to start drinking around the age of, I'd say 16. She just always saw Dad do it, so I guess that became her way out too. Mom was always busy with her job at the local emergency center-"

"She was a doctor too?" Ms. Smith interjected. John shook his head.

"No, she never made it that far. She was a nurse. Anyway, she was never home, so it was normally Harry and I on our own." Ms. Smith nodded, then turned to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't give any outward signs of being uncomfortable, but John knew that this was a touchy subject for him. He squeezed his thigh comfortingly and held tightly to his hand.

"My story isn't that different from John's. I was an inquisitive child, and that wasn't a good thing in my family. My older brother Mycroft was always the same, but he knew how to 'hold it in' as Mother would say, during social situations. My parents were very active in public affairs and we always had people coming to call at our home."

"Holmes Mansion, yes?" Ms. Smith asked, looking up from her papers.

"Yes. You could say my parents were inattentive and I wouldn't dispute." Ms. Smith looked up again at Sherlock's sudden declaration, then marked something down on her papers.

"How do think this will affect how you raise a child?" She adjusted her glasses and looked at the men before her. John and Sherlock looked at each other; they had discussed this. John answered.

"We'll make sure to pay more attention to our child and never punish them for asking questions." Ms. Smith nodded, content with their answer.

"Now, I do have to ask about your jobs. Mr. Watson-Holmes, our research shows you to be employed as a surgeon at the London Clinic?" John nodded and she continued. "However, I am a little confused as to your job Mr. Holmes-Watson." Sherlock stiffened, indignant.

"I am a Consulting Detective." Ms. Smith nodded.

"Yes, that is what it says. But what does a Consulting Detective do, exactly?" Sherlock sighed.

"When the police are out of their depth, which is-" John nudged him gently in the side, urging him not to complete that thought. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nevertheless, complied.

"When the police are out of their depth, they consult me." Ms. Smith frowned.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Sherlock rolled his eyes again, exasperated with the woman in front of him.

"I investigate crimes. I go to crime scenes, see what the police overlook, point it out to them, put the pieces of the puzzle together faster than the police can, and solve the case." Ms. Smith paused for a moment, but regained herself fairly quickly. She didn't ask any more questions about Sherlock's occupation. When the questions were over, John and Sherlock took Ms. Smith on a tour of the house. She went from room to room, inspecting the window locks and the nails keeping the shelves to the walls. She smiled brightly when she saw the upstairs bedroom that John and Sherlock were going to turn into the nursery. The only time things got a little rough was when she saw Sherlock's chemistry supplies in the kitchen. John had made him clean everything up and place it on top of the fridge, but Ms. Smith wrote a few things down on her clipboard.

A few hours later, Ms. Smith took her leave, and John and Sherlock collapsed on their couch, exhausted. Sherlock turned his head towards John.

"How do you think we did?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged.

"She said she didn't need to come back a second time, but I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing." John rubbed his eyes. "You're the observant one. What did you get from her?" Sherlock shook her head.

"Nothing of importance. Though she does love Japanese food." John raised his eyebrows. "Frequent customer's coupons in her bag." John chuckled, but soon the two were laughing hysterically, sliding around on the couch, and clutching each other, struggling to quite their howls of laughter. Once they had calmed down, John sighed.

"We'll just have to wait and see what happens. Whether or not we can be fathers, it's in their hands now." Sherlock sat up quickly at John's words and John jumped.

"The drugs." He said quickly. John nodded slowly.

"Yeah, how did they not know about that? There must be records all over the place. It would take a god to make all that information disappear." Sherlock sat still for a moment, hands folded under his chin in his classic 'thinking pose'. Suddenly he stood up and grabbed his phone. He dialed quickly and John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock covered the mouth piece with his hand and answered John's unspoken question.

"A god? I doubt it. But the British Government? Now that's more likely. Hello Brother Dear!"

"Yes Sherlock, what is it I am supposed to have done wrong now?" An annoyed voice answered on the other end.

"We've just had our home inspection." Sherlock said into his cell phone.

"Oh? How did it go?"

"Interesting. It seemed that no one knows I've… experimented with brain stimulators." John scoffed at the term, but Sherlock didn't react.

"Did you say anything to them?" Mycroft asked.

"No, I didn't. I was however wondering how this is possible. Files like that just don't disappear." Mycroft chuckled into the phone.

"I would leave this case alone, Sherlock. You've been given a clean slate. Let's try and keep it this way, shall we?" With that, the British Government hung up the phone. Sherlock shook his head and John smiled broadly.

"Say what you will about Mycroft, when push comes to shove, he's got your back."

"Yes." Sherlock said smiling. "Yes he does."

It seemed to take ages for their adoption application to go through. Sherlock felt helpless.

"John…" He moaned as he lay on the sofa one evening. John looked up from his patient files and frowned.

"What is it Sherlock?" Sherlock rolled over onto his side to face his husband.

"How long will this take? I can't stand the suspense!" John shook his head.

"I don't know how long it will take. We just have to give it time. It's only been three weeks." At this, Sherlock smashed his head into the lounge pillow beside him. John winced, sure that the force must have hurt Sherlock's nose, but the consulting detective didn't move.

"It feels like I'm sinking in molasses!" He complained; his voice muffled thanks to the wads of cotton. John frowned.

"How do you mean?"

"I'm moving excruciatingly slow and each time I think I'm starting to get closer to what I want, I get stuck." John blinked at Sherlock's bizarre comparison and Sherlock looked at him expectantly.

"What?" He asked, rubbing at his nose.

"I think you'd better leave the similes to us writers." John said raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, for Pete's sake John! You're a blogger! That hardly counts as fine literature!" John just shook his head.

"Sherlock, thanks to my 'not-so-fine-literature' people know who you are!"

"People knew me!" Sherlock said indignantly sitting up and staring at his husband.

"The day I met you, what were you doing?" John asked, placing his folder beside him and folding his hands in his lap. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"An experiment." Sherlock said. John looked at him.

"Sherlock, you were beating a corpse with a riding crop! Not working for anyone willing to pay you, not making any money…" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"Are you insinuating something?" He said slowly. John shrugged.

"You're the observant one; you tell me!" Just as their dispute was getting rather heated, a timid knock on the door distracted them. Mrs. Hudson leaned around the open door and waved at them with an envelope.

"Yoo-hoo! Having a little domestic?" She asked, walking forward, her arm outstretched. "I hate to interrupt, but this just arrived in the post for you. It says 'one day shipping' on it, so I thought I should get it up to you right away."

John and Sherlock were out of their seats in an instant, both standing in front of Mrs. Hudson expectantly. Sherlock cocked a head at John.

"Do you think-"

"I don't know!" Mrs. Hudson stared at them, confused, but handed the letter over to the pair and walked back downstairs. Sherlock took the letter and placed it on the table, flicking on the light to read the small print.

"London Adoption Agency." He read. John's eyes widened and he gestured widely for Sherlock to open it. He pulled the stiff paper out of the envelope but kept it folded.

"Do you want to read it first, John?" John hesitated, and then shook his head.

"No, you read it. I can't look." Sherlock's hands shook uncharacteristically as he unfolded the pale stationary.

"'Mr. Watson-Holmes and Mr. Holmes-Watson,'" He read slowly. "'We are writing this letter to inform you that your request to adopt a child has been-" Sherlock looked up at John, tears springing in his eyes.

"Denied." He finished. "John, we aren't allowed to adopt a child."


	2. Denial

_A/N: Sorry guys! Really short today! I've had a lot going on, family wise, but I will be posting more soon; promise!_

Chapter 2: Denial

It had been one week since the arrival of the letter. Well, according to Sherlock, one week, 3 hours and 47 minutes. Sherlock was pacing in the living room, stopping only to look at his husband who was in the kitchen, on the phone.

"Yes, hello? Is this Ms. Smith from the London Adoption Agency?" Sherlock whipped his head around so fast John swore he felt it, but the detective didn't as much as blink.

"Well if this isn't her, could you put her on please? It's rather urgent." John spoke softly to keep Sherlock from hearing too much of the stress in his voice, but even as he did it John knew it was a lost cause. That man picked up on everything and anything. As it turned out, Sherlock was paying so much attention to the words coming out of John's mouth, that he barely noticed his husband's tone. That's not to say he didn't notice it at all; this is Sherlock Holmes after all.

"My name? John H. Watson-Holmes. Yes. Thank you." Sherlock could only hear John's side of the conversation with the undertrained receptionist, but he could infer what was said on the other end. There was a tense minute (one minute and 36 seconds) where nothing happened. Then the headache-inducing elevator music stopped and a female voice answered. John hit the speaker button quickly so Sherlock could hear what was going on, but his eyes clearly said 'if you speak at all or say anything rude to this woman that keeps us from fighting the agency's decision, I will murder you. I will murder you and leave no evidence. Lestrade will help me burry the body and Mycroft will get rid of all the evidence'. Needless to say, Sherlock kept his mouth closed.

"_Hello? This is Alexandra Smith._"

"Yes, hello! Ms. Smith, this is John Watson-Holmes. I was calling-"

"_Oh yes. How are you?_" Sherlock's mouth fell open but after a quick murder glance from John, he remained silent.

_How are you? __**How are you**__?! Who does she think she's kidding? How are we doing? Oh just brilliant considering you have denied my husband and I the legal right to having a child!_

Sherlock thought bitterly. He closed his mouth and bit his lips hard enough to draw blood, but he didn't speak any of his thoughts aloud.

"Um, not to well actually." John was struggling just as much as Sherlock was to keep the anger out of his voice; however, John had had more practice.

"You see, we got our letter from the Adoption Agency last week, and we were denied." There was a pause and a shuffling of papers from Ms. Smith's end before she spoke.

"_Oh, yes it does say that. I'm sorry Mr. Watson-Holmes. I had nothing to do with the decision, however. I actually fought for your adoption papers to be put through, but I'm afraid it's out of my hands._" John took a deep, steadying breath before responding.

"Is there any way we can change the decision? It can't possibly be final, can it?" John kept his voice from cracking at the end of his question, but it was a close call.

"_Well, yes. You have three options available to you. You can write to the head of the London Adoption Agency and try to change their minds, you can apply to the Independent Review Mechanism and they'll look into your case, or you can simply find another adoption agency. Though of course that means you'll have to start the entire process over again_."

Sherlock banged his fists on the back of John's favorite chair in an uncharacteristic show of anger. John didn't react, but his eyes watered slightly.

"W-which one would you suggest us doing?" There was more rustling of paper.

"I think you still have a chance with the London Adoption Clinic. You go ahead and write a letter- an email; time is of the essence- and I'll see if I can schedule you an appointment with the head of my department. I'm sure he can do something for you."

John nodded, though of course Ms. Smith could not see him.

"Yes. Yes of course. Thank you. I will write to them right away."

"I will call you as soon as I get a response from my superiors. And Mr. Watson?"

"Yes?" John said, apprehensively.

"I really am sorry about all this. All of my papers were positive. I have no idea why you were denied. All I can do now is wish you luck. So, good luck."

John cleared his throat, which had gotten tight.

"Thank you." He hung up the phone with a click and placed it on the table slowly so as not to slam it. Sherlock watched him from the living room, analyzing his movements and categorizing them in his brain.

"John?" He said slowly. John didn't respond. Instead he walked over to Sherlock, gave him a small kiss on the cheek and turned around, heading to their shared bedroom.

"I- I'm feeling really tired suddenly. I think I'm coming down with something… I'm just going to go to bed. Wake me if you need anything."

John was halfway down the hallway when Sherlock called to him.

"John-!" John turned around wordlessly and Sherlock continued.

"I love you." John nodded and smiled, though his eyes were wet.

"I know. I love you too."


	3. The Meeting

_A/N: A bit longer today. Hope that makes you all happy! :) Please review!_

Chapter 3: The Meeting

Sherlock fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair in the adoption agency lobby, and John looked at him curiously. Sherlock frowned.

"What did they cover this chair with, carpet? It's so scratchy." Sherlock adjusted himself again and John barely held back a smile. Though Sherlock wasn't wearing shorts ('I can't be caught dead in something so unprofessional in public John!') he could easily feel the irritating fabric through the thin cloth of his summer dress pants. John however, was wearing shorts, and though the fabric wasn't pleasant on his skin either, he was less disturbed by it.

Sherlock began to fidget again, mumbling under his breath and John sighed. He leaned around to take his rain jacket off the back of his chair, wiped off the moisture and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock took it, and stared blankly. John stared right back at him, an eyebrow quirked. Sherlock shrugged as if to say: 'it's a rain jacket. So what?' John waved at him to stand, then when Sherlock was no longer on the chair, he placed his jacket on the seat. Sherlock sat down again, and though his legs were going to be slightly damp, he was far more comfortable now. Sherlock looked at him and smiled his thanks. John nodded and gave his husband a chaste kiss on the cheek.

A few more minutes passed and Sherlock began fidgeting again. This time he was twiddling his thumbs. John knew he was bored, but there was nothing he could do, save hand the consulting detective a magazine from the piles in front of him; and somehow he didn't think that Sherlock would become less bored when handed a copy of "Women's Weekly". Luckily, John didn't have to fret about that for much longer. Soon he had something much more important to fret about. They were waiting for their meeting to discuss their adoption papers. If all went well, they should be able to turn the verdict around and adopt a child.

"Mr. Watson-Holmes?" The receptionist stood up in her chair and called John's name. The appointment was only in his name, so there wasn't a need to call Sherlock, though of course he would be there too. John and Sherlock stood, Sherlock fighting to get John's raincoat off his bum, and the two walked over to the large oak desk on the other side of the bland room. The receptionist smiled at them and handed them a clipboard with some papers and two pens.

"Just fill these out when you get into the conference room. They're just standard procedure papers confirming that you are indeed John Watson-Holmes and Sherlock Holmes-Watson." John nodded and took the papers. "You're conference room is down the hall," the receptionist pointed behind her "and it's the fifth door on the right. Ms. Smith will be waiting for you there. Mr. Colby, the head of this department, will join you shortly."

John and Sherlock nodded in unison, and began their walk down the hall. It seemed longer than it should have, and yet their trek seemed to take no time at all. As they reached the door, John paused and took a deep breath to steady himself. Sherlock took his hand and kissed it gently.

"We can do this. Ready?" Sherlock asked. John took another deep breath and squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"Ready."

It had been quite a few minutes (15 minutes and 13 seconds) since they had entered the room and Ms. Smith had run them through what was going to happen. Mr. Colby was going to come in and talk to them about why they were denied the right to adopt a child, and then the three of them, John, Sherlock, and Ms. Smith were going to argue their case.

It seemed now, to Sherlock, that they were never going to get to talk about adopting. Ms. Smith sat at the corner of the large wooden table reading through her reports on their home. John sat with his phone in front of him, every so often opening it and texting someone. Sherlock had already deduced that based on John's expression and the frequency of the answers, John was either texting Mycroft or Greg. Either way, the topic couldn't possibly be grand enough to take away Sherlock's boredom. Currently, the only thing that could take away Sherlock's boredom was talking about whether he and John could have a son. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. Ms. Smith looked up for a moment, then returned to her paperwork. John didn't so much as blink, as this was normal in their household.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Sherlock stopped his tapping and John placed his phone in his pocket. John's posture changed ever so slightly. One couldn't notice it if they didn't know John very well, but Sherlock saw that John had reverted to Captain Mode. Ms. Smith shuffled her papers and called: "Come in."

A man with grey hair and a bright smile walked into the room.

"Ah, Ms. Smith! I had forgotten you were working this process! Good to see you." Mr. Colby said, his smile growing bigger.

"And you sir." She responded, giving a smile of her own, though it was strained. John and Sherlock stood and Mr. Colby gave them his attention.

"And you must be Mr. Watson-Holmes and Mr. Holmes-Watson. I'm afraid you'll have to help me on which one of you is which!" Mr. Colby chortled and Sherlock relaxed slightly. He had done a quick, though accurate deduction. This man didn't have a history of alcohol or drug abuse, so his brain was fine. And it appeared he was not homophobic, so nothing would be biased today. John took his cue from Sherlock and relaxed, sitting down as Mr. Colby did. John stuck out his hand and Mr. Colby shook it graciously.

"John Watson-Holmes." John said, then gestured to Sherlock. "And this is my husband, Sherlock." Sherlock shook hands with the man and Mr. Colby turned to face John again.

"You were in the army, were you not?" John nodded.

"Medical. 5th Northumberland Fusiliers." Mr. Colby nodded.

"Yes, of course. How wonderful to be a medical man!" Mr. Colby grabbed a manila folder from his side and opened it. Ms. Smith shuffled her papers, and John and Sherlock looked at her.

"Mr. Colby, we scheduled this meeting to talk about the agency's refusal for these two men to adopt." Sherlock stiffened in his chair and John placed a reassuring hand on his knee. Sherlock placed his left hand on top of John's to hold it there. The weight of their two wedding bands felt comforting.

Mr. Colby nodded and looked at John and Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes-Watson, you said in your papers and to Ms. Smith that you are a," he referenced his papers. "A Consulting Detective." Sherlock nodded.

"That, I'm afraid is where we have the problem." Ms. Smith stared at him.

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand. In my report I said specifically that I didn't think Mr. Holmes-Watson's job would affect the upbringing of a child. In fact, I said I thought it could possibly help the child. With one father a medical surgeon, and another dedicated to putting bad men behind bars, this child would be safer than most!" Sherlock squeezed John's hand and John linked their fingers together under the table. Mr. Colby referenced his papers again.

"Mr. Holmes-Watson, I'm afraid that no matter how much Ms. Smith protests and says otherwise, this would affect the health of a child. Your records state that within the past month you have solved many cases, most of which were assigned to Scotland Yard." Sherlock nodded and Mr. Colby continued. "It's a dangerous occupation. Reports say you have been shot at more times than can count, and at one point had to fake your own death to keep your family and friends safe." John stiffened. He didn't like to remember that time. The time without Sherlock. Sherlock rubbed John's knuckles affectionately, reminding him that he was still here and wouldn't leave.

"I just don't think, and I'm afraid most of the department agrees with me, that this would create a safe environment for a child." John felt a stinging behind his eyes, and willed himself not to show any emotion. He managed to hold it in, but only years of practice not crying over dead soldiers' bodies prepared him for it.

"But Mr. Colby." Ms. Smith protested. "We are supposed to allow for job perils and not let that interfere with our decision. It's an occupational hazard-"

"But that isn't Mr. Holmes-Watson's job." John and Sherlock frowned and stared at Mr. Colby.

"I'm sorry, but what do you mean that isn't his job?" John asked, royally confused.

"The cases he takes on with Scotland Yard do not pay him." Mr. Colby pulled out two papers and set them down on the table. "Some other cases do pay him, and we can count those under occupational hazards. However because he is not paid for his work with Scotland Yard, we must say it is too dangerous for a child. I'm sorry. I do wish I could change that, but I just don't have the power." A moment of silence passed Mr. Colby's monologue and it was only punctured by the sound of an argument in the lobby.

"Sir," Ms. Smith started, but she was cut off by a shake of Sherlock's head.

"Ms. Smith, I thank you for your effort, but I'm afraid Mr. Colby is correct." John stared at Sherlock open mouthed and Sherlock faced him. "There's nothing more we can do, John." John breathed in air to protest, but he was cut off by further sounds from the lobby. The argument appeared to be getting more heated and from the sound, it seemed as if something large and heavy had been knocked over.

"What in blazes…?" Mr. Colby started. Pounding footsteps were heard heading down the hall, and they were getting louder. The door to the conference room banged open and there stood Greg Lestrade, panting but smiling. John stood quickly.

"Greg, what are you doing here? We're in the middle of a very important meeting-" Greg nodded quickly.

"I know, which is why I'm here." The receptionist from earlier, arrived quickly behind Greg and gave Mr. Colby an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry Mr. Colby, he just came in here and demanded to see Mr. Watson-Holmes and Mr. Holmes-Watson. I tried to-" Mr. Colby waved a hand at her.

"It's quite alright Silvia." He turned to John and Sherlock. "You know this man?" John simply nodded, too stunned from his sudden entrance. Greg stepped through the doorway and held out a hand to Mr. Colby.  
"DI Greg Lestrade of Scotland Yard." Mr. Colby shook his hand warmly and offered him a seat. Silvia the receptionist stared for a moment, but then returned to her desk, shutting the door behind her.

"What is it you are doing here, Detective Inspector?" Ms. Smith asked. Greg smiled, excitement bouncing behind his eyes.

"Sherlock I was talking to John earlier today and found out that you were having your meeting today." Sherlock of course had already deduced as much, but wisely kept his mouth closed and let Greg continue. "I've done my research and found that the most likely reason your request to adopt was denied was because of occupational hazards, for a job you don't legally have." Greg took a deep breath, but John took this opportunity to cut in.

"That's all fine Greg, but that still doesn't explain what you're doing here." Greg smiled broadly and John was surprised to find Sherlock mirrored his expression.

"I'm here to offer Sherlock a job." Ms. Smith's eyes widened with shock. "Scotland Yard can't get along without you, and we figured it's about time you got paid for it."

"I wouldn't have the title Detective Inspector would I?" Sherlock asked his nose wrinkling. Greg shook his head and his smile got bigger.

"No. You'd have to work the cases we give you, but as I'm giving you your cases, I think that should all be in order. Nothing really would change other than now, you'd be paid for your work. You, assuming you take the job, would be the world's first and only legal Consulting Detective." John's jaw dropped open and Sherlock grasped Greg's hand and shook it. Ms. Smith seized the opportunity to speak to Mr. Colby.

"Sir, now that Mr. Holmes-Watson is legally employed, the occupational hazards are excused as coming with his legal job. Therefore…" She trailed off and looked at her superior hopefully. Mr. Colby nodded and looked up from his papers.

"Therefore," he continued. "You have the legal permission to adopt a child." Ms. Smith and Greg smiled happily as John and Sherlock embraced tightly. "As there is nothing left to discuss here, I will let you all leave. I will get the adoption papers in and you should be ready to go by the end of the week."

John and Sherlock arrived at 221b Baker Street to find it empty. A note in the hallway said Mrs. Hudson had run out to do some errands and wouldn't be back until late. Sherlock and John sat on the stairs and looked at each other.

"We're going to be Dads Sherlock!" John said happily leaning against Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't know how we can ever thank Greg." John shook his head in awe.

"I do." Sherlock said. "But we'll talk about it after the adoption." John looked at Sherlock curiously, but didn't say anything.

The two men stood up and walked up the stairs into their home. 221b Baker Street would have to prepare.

Because now, there was three.


	4. Baby Watson-Holmes

_So, it's a little shorter this time, but now that summer is here, I should be updating more frequently. This title name is a work in progress. If anyone has a better title name, please PM me or leave it in a review! Hope you enjoy!_

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Chapter 4: Baby Watson-Holmes

John sat at the kitchen table, Sherlock next to him. He wrote something down on the extensive list in front of him, nodded and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock read through it faster than should've been possible and glanced up from the paper to look at his husband.

"We really need all of this?" He asked, dismay sketched across his pale features. John nodded.

"Everything that I've underlined is something we cannot go without." Sherlock stared at him.

"John, you've underlined everything." John looked up. Sherlock's face was so serious that John couldn't suppress a chuckle.

"Well, maybe we can spare a few items. I guess I'm just excited." He looked up at Sherlock who was standing now and grabbing his coat. "I can't believe this is really happening Sherlock!" John followed his husband's lead and grabbed his rain jacket. A cold front unusual for summer had blown in and with it came wind and rain. (Something not so unusual for England.)

"I can." Sherlock said, holding the door open for John and starting down the stairs. "I can imagine it. You and I, together, raising a child… It couldn't have gone any other way." John paused in the entry way and faced Sherlock.

"You really believe that?" He asked, squeezing Sherlock's hand. Sherlock nodded.

"Of course. Scientifically speaking it was impossible for this to go any other way. You love me, I love you, you're a family man… Everything points to us marrying and having a child." Sherlock spoke with a tone that spelled out how obvious this was. John sighed before squeezing his husband's hand, walking out the door, and hailing a cab.

"That was almost a sweet moment." He said as the cab pulled up and he slid into the back seat, Sherlock following.

"Bit not good?" Sherlock asked, smirking. They caught each other's eye and John couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. Both men knew that though once upon a time those words were simply a question to help Sherlock understand when something he said hurt others, now those three words meant something completely different, but just as necessary to their existence.

"Bit not good." John agreed. "But completely you, so it's fine."

"It's all fine." Sherlock said, his lips breaking into a full out grin now. John just shook his head, chuckling and gave directions to the cabbie.

John and Sherlock arrived at the shopping complex without much delay. They were buying the items necessary for their party this upcoming weekend. Their little baby was coming home today.

"John." Sherlock said as he walked through the automatic doors and into the large store.

"Hmm?" John asked pulling out a cart and following behind him.

"No, I wasn't calling you. I was saying a name. What if we named him John?" John thought a moment, but then shook his head, his grey blond hair waving in the created wind.

"No, we shouldn't do that. He'd be labeled 'junior' for the rest of his life. Imagine the introductions! 'Oh hello! This is my husband Sherlock and my son, Junior.'" Sherlock grimaced.

"Yes, I suppose you're right." He grabbed the front of the cart John was pushing and pulled him down an aisle labeled 'Parties'. Sherlock stopped halfway down the aisle and pulled down a stack of square blue paper plates and matching squared cups. He held them up to John for inspection and John frowned, watching his mirror in the semi-reflecting plates do the same.

"Um, I don't think so." Sherlock gave him an inquisitive look and John explained. "I think we need something more…"

"Bright?" Sherlock offered.

"Fun." Sherlock walked a few more paces down the aisle and picked up another set of paper party plates and cups.

"How about these?" The plates were mainly white but had rainbow colored splatter paint design. The napkins had all the colors but each plate and cup was dedicated to a specific paint. John smiled.

"Those are perfect!"

Once the shopping cart was full of snacks and drinks, and John's wallet sufficiently emptier, the men hailed another taxi and began their trip back to 221b Baker Street.

Sherlock ran across the flat, his chemistry set jiggling in his arms and dripping some strange smelling blue fluid. He quickly placed all of it on top of the refrigerator and John followed behind him, vacuuming up the carpets. Sherlock then put away the clean dishes that were stacked on the counter and John followed behind him with a wet rag, cleaning up the bits of food stuck to the stove top.

John and Sherlock paused, and stared at each other. Sherlock smiled. Then, the doorbell rang.

"It's Ms. Smith." John said, though there was no need. Sherlock knew exactly who was at the door and who would be with her. Together the men walked towards the door and opened it.

"Good afternoon!" Ms. Smith said jovially. John stepped aside to let her through, but Sherlock seemed not to notice her presence. He was too preoccupied with the thing in her arms. Ms. Smith had a handled car seat and in it laid the most precious human being Sherlock had ever seen. Ms. Smith placed the carrier carefully on the ground by the couch and pulled out the final adoption papers.

"These are the last things you'll need to sign." She told them. "Just some final information; godparents, baby's name, the basics." She looked up from her papers and smiled. Sherlock had crouched down beside the baby carrier and was staring at the small human inside it.

"John…" Sherlock whispered, his eyes never leaving the small bundle of blankets. "John, he's sleeping." Sherlock's hand was outstretched as if to touch it, but he thought better of it; his touch might wake him and he looked so peaceful. Ms. Smith smiled. She handed John to folder with the papers and they walked to the kitchen table. Sherlock gave one last glance to the sleeping baby and then followed his husband, rather reluctantly.

"Sherlock, we still don't know what we're going to name him." John said, his eyebrows furrowing. Sherlock clasped his hands in thought.

"John, what about Hamish?" Sherlock asked, locking eyes with his husband. John started.

"You'd want to give him my middle name?" Sherlock nodded.

"And I was thinking, for his middle name… What about Arthur?" John looked at Sherlock, so he continued. "Arthur means 'noble strength'; something he'll have to have and something you can give him." John stared at his husband and gave him a watery eyed smile.

"Yes. Yes, I like that. Hamish Arthur Watson-Holmes." Sherlock and John had previously decided that John's last name should go first, as it flowed better that way. Ms. Smith nodded and wrote that down on one of the papers.

"Dr. Watson-Holmes and Mr. Holmes-Watson, may I introduce to you, Hamish Arthur Watson-Holmes. Your legally adopted child." She smiled at them. "Congratulations." Sherlock and John hugged eachother tightly, and Sherlock felt a tear that wasn't his own wet his cheek. He looked at John and saw that his eyes were red and watery.

"Thank you very much Ms. Smith." Sherlock said, holding out his hand.

"It has been an honor to help you fight for your child." She said, shaking his hand. She gave the couple and their new baby one last look before leaving the happy family together.

John and Sherlock walked over to the couch and sat side by side, hand in hand, looking at little Hamish who was still asleep in his seat.

"He doesn't know…" John said, smiling. Sherlock looked at him.

"Doesn't know what?" Sherlock asked.

"That he's just made two men the happiest men on the planet just by existing." The words had no sooner opened his mouth than little Hamish wriggled in his blankets and yawned, still fast asleep.

"Oh, John did you see that?" Sherlock asked, though he knew full well he had. Nonetheless, John nodded.

"I did. I did." John leaned forward and picked Hamish up, careful not to jostle him. John cradled him in his arms, perfectly content to sit there and watch him. Sherlock leaned forward and placed his hand on Hamish's small head. Hamish stirred again and his little eyes opened.

"Oh…" Sherlock said, fascinated. Hamish looked at the two men holding him, cooed slightly, and then smiled. Sherlock smiled back at him.

"Hello my little Hamish." Sherlock knew that speaking to the new born was pointless as he wouldn't understand what was being said, let alone know that anyone was speaking to him, but Sherlock continued anyway.

"You are so loved, little Hamish. Don't forget that." John turned and looked at Sherlock, tears running freely down his face now.

"Oh, Sherlock." He buried his face in his husband's shoulder and kissed his neck softly.

"And then there were three…" Sherlock mumbled sleepily. All was well in 221b.


	5. The Welcoming Party

Chapter 5: The Welcoming Party

It was Saturday. A day when people sleep in and relax in the knowledge that hard work and a tight schedule was two days away. Saturday is a day when people stay in lazy clothes and only after their tummy rumbles with hunger do they rise and make pancakes for themselves and their loved ones. This is a normal Saturday. But as we know, things at 221b Baker Street is anything but normal. Especially this morning.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, little Hamish in his arms, watching his husband run around the flat.

"Okay," John said, checking the list in his hand. "So everyone will be arriving at 2. Mum and Dad are taking the tube in, then Harry's meeting them at the station and walking them over here... Any word from your parents?" John asked looking at Sherlock who was busy wiping drool from Hamish's chin with a tissue.

"Check the answering machine. The light was flashing."

John blinked. He hadn't heard the phone ring, but nevertheless, when John walked over to check it, the light was on and blinking, signaling that there was a missed call and a message left. John pressed the play button and waited.

_"__Hello Sherlock, it's Mummy! Your father and I won't be able to make it to your party today; there's been a setback in the annual "Flower Grower's Exhibition" and it requires our immediate attention!"_

John gave Sherlock a curious look and Sherlock said:

"My home town is a very small, close-knit group. A lot of the people who live there are agriculturalists, so every year Mother and Father host an exhibition of sorts. Really it's just a time for all of them to show off..."

John nodded and listened to the last bit of the message. Sherlock had talked through most of it, though it appeared it was just a lengthy explanation of the problems the Exhibition was having.

_"__-and to top it all off, our gardener put my primroses out on display, when I specifically told her to show our pansies as they were more in season. As the hostess of this event I wanted everything to be spectacular, and things just aren't going to plan! Well, I should get back to your father- his allergies are atrocious this season!- Anyhow, sorry we'll miss the party, dear. We'll be sure to pop in on you some other time!_

The message ended with a click and John sighed. He had only met his in-laws once- and that was at the wedding- but he had gotten the feeling almost immediately that they cared less about their sons and more about their 'public image'.

"Never mind. It doesn't matter if they are here or not." Sherlock said, looking fondly down at Hamish who was now giggling for no reason in his arms. John smiled despite himself.

"Why is he laughing?" John said, walking over to smile at Hamish, who giggled madly at the sight of his other father.

"I don't know." Sherlock chuckled, placing a finger down on Hamish's little belly and tickling him. Hamish burst into another fit of giggles and his fathers laughed with him.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm grateful." John said, kissing Sherlock on the temple and going to deal with the balloons floating next to the window. Sherlock said nothing, and instead watched John place balloons and streamers across the living room. Hamish had stopped giggling and seemed to be watching his Dad too; though upon closer inspection, it was clear he was more interested in the multicolored balloons. Eventually though, Hamish became bored and started to cry. John looked over.

"What's wrong?" He asked, tacking up a banner that said: "Welcome Baby!"

"I think he's just bored." Sherlock said, adjusting Hamish and bouncing him. Hamish immediately stopped crying and instead began looking around him as his surroundings blurred in time with Sherlock's bouncing.

"Do you want me to hold him?" John asked, realizing that Sherlock had been on baby duty for the past three hours. Sherlock however, didn't seem to mind the constant need of attention by Hamish.

"No, it's fine. I've got him. Unless you want me to help put up decorations? I can put him in the play pin." John looked at Hamish and Sherlock and realized that they both seemed happy where they were. He smiled.

"No, if you're fine holding him, I don't need any help."

Sherlock nodded and looked at Hamish, who was now pulling on a button on his father's shirt with interest. Sherlock watched him, not stopping him as there was little chance of him causing damage. Eventually, Hamish gave up with the button and instead focused on staring at Sherlock. Sherlock walked to the couch and sat down, staring right back at Hamish. They continued like this for about 10 minutes. Hamish pulling on a button or some loose string on Sherlock's shirt, then staring at his father, then going back to pulling.

John meanwhile had finished with all the decorating and had gone upstairs to change.

Hamish was playing happily in his play pin as John sat with Sherlock on the sofa. It was almost 2 o'clock. Though he wasn't showing any outward signs of discomfort, John could tell something was bothering Sherlock.

"Sherlock, what is it?" Sherlock removed his gaze from their once again giggling baby and locked eyes with his husband.

"What is what, John?" Sherlock asked, though he knew exactly what John was talking about and was simply avoiding the question.

"What's bothering you?" John asked patiently, taking Sherlock's hand and rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. Sherlock sighed. Though John was not as observant as Sherlock was by far, he did know his husband well.

"It's silly, but I feel like, when everyone else sees Hamish… He won't be just _our_ baby anymore. He'll be _everyone's_." Sherlock spoke quickly as though ashamed to be feeling the way he did. John, instead of brushing aside Sherlock's fear, nodded and considered it.

"While it's true everyone else will get to see him, he'll still be our baby." John said, squeezing Sherlock's hand in his own. "I understand how you feel. I feel the same way… You know, when I was younger, Mom used to tell me that when I was first born, Dad wouldn't let anyone take any pictures of me. He did the same with Harry, though I wasn't alive for that." Sherlock frowned.

"Why couldn't anyone take any pictures?" John shrugged.

"He was afraid I wouldn't be just their- my parent's- child anymore. It was silly, but whenever Dad got a little distant with Harry and me, I thought about that time he was so protective, so consumed with his children, and it sort of helped me." Though the story John told seemed rather sad to Sherlock, John told it with a smile on his face, as if remembering the actual time no one could take pictures of him, though it was impossible.

Sherlock didn't know what to say. However, he was saved the trouble of answering by the ring of their doorbell. John jumped and Hamish became strangely quiet; having never heard the doorbell before, he was interested in what had made the noise. Sherlock looked over at their son and gave him a reassuring smile, to which Hamish smiled back and began to chew on his blanket once more. Sherlock stood to make sure all the snacks were set out in the kitchen and John walked over to answer the door.

"Hello love!" Mrs. Hudson said as John pulled open the door.

"Hello Mrs. Hudson!" John hugged the older woman and then moved aside so she could walk in. John was about to close the door, but then saw another figure was walking up the stairs.

"Hi John!" Molly said, struggling to carry three different colored bags with a copious amount of tissue paper and a large, wrapped box up the stairs to 221b Baker Street.

"Hi Molly! Here, let me help you with that-" John rushed down the stairs and took all three bags from her so she was just left with the box, then followed her up the stairs and through the door.

"I wasn't sure what to get Baby." Molly said, using the term 'baby' as Hamish's name as John and Sherlock had agreed to keep that quiet until today. "So I just settled on getting him all four." John and Molly walked over to the fold out table set up next to the telly and placed the presents down next to Mrs. Hudson's.

"You didn't have to do that!" John said, finally turning around and hugging her. Molly hugged John back tightly and then shrugged.

"But I wanted to. It's not every day I get to buy presents for a baby!" John smiled and nodded. Molly was a lot happier now than she had been when John had first met her. It seemed though while she still loved Sherlock, it was in the same way she loved John. Nonromantic. John had offered to set her up with one of his friends from the Army, another medical doctor named Mathew Michaels, and now it seemed they were seeing each other quite often.

"John, could you see who's at the door please?" Sherlock called to him, as he was currently helping Hamish out of his play pin so Mrs. Hudson could hold him. John smiled to himself and walked across the flat. Not too long ago it would've been impossible to hear the word 'please' come out of Sherlock Holmes's mouth. Now it seemed that some of John's manners had rubbed off on him.

John twisted the door knob and saw Mycroft Holmes standing before him, umbrella in one hand, and a neatly wrapped box in the other.

"Hello John. How are you?" John smiled.

"I'm very well, thank you. Won't you come in?" John moved aside for the elder Holmes brother, but once again found another person walking up the stairs.

"Greg!" John said, surprise etched on his features. "I thought you'd be in Southampton visiting your kids?"

"I was, but I found out yesterday that both kids, Alyce and Walker, got the chickenpox." John and Greg shook hands on the stairs then, turned to walk into 221b.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I know you were looking forward to seeing them." John said sympathetically.

"I'll go and visit them later this evening, but it'll only be a quick check in. Walker gets really excited when I'm around and as he's sick, I thought it'd be better to save the long visits for when they're both healthy again." John nodded.

"Wise choice." He said, opening the door for the detective inspector. "They really should be on bed rest for about a week, and drinking lots of fluids." John said, his medical training kicking in.

"Hello Greg!" Molly said, waving from across the room. Greg smiled and raised his hand back then turned to John.

"Where should I put this?" He said, holding up his present.

"On the table over here is fine." John said, leading him over to the corner. Sherlock passed them, walking towards the kitchen to grab a fresh bib for Hamish as he was drooling again, but spoke quickly to Greg before taking the bib over to his baby.

"Tell them not to scratch; it'll leave scars."

Greg stared open mouthed at Sherlock for a moment, then shared a glance with John. John chuckled as Greg shrugged and placed his present on the table.

"Oh, hello." Mycroft said, seeing Greg and holding out his hand. "How are you Detective Inspector?" Greg smiled and shook Mycroft's hand.

"Please, just call me Greg. I'm doing fine. And you?" Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off my Sherlock walking quickly over to them and protesting loudly.

"No, no! Sorry, but no!" He stopped in front of them and crossed his arms, staring at Mycroft and Greg, while John stared incredulously at his husband. Greg looked over at Sherlock, shocked at his outburst, but Mycroft ignored his brother.

"Can I get you a drink, Greg?" He asked, just as calm as he had been before Sherlock stormed over. Greg looked back at the man before him and smiled.

"I would love one." The two men left Sherlock and John standing at the table and walked over to the kitchen. Sherlock turned to John and John held up his hands in surrender.

"There is nothing you or I can do. You're just going to have to leave it." Sherlock huffed loudly but John ignored him. "Besides, I think it's rather cute." Sherlock's mouth fell open in an uncharacteristic display of astonishment.

"Cute? _Cute?_" Sherlock breathed in to tell John just how 'cute' he though his brother hitting on someone in his house was, but was interrupted by Hamish who had started crying. John and Sherlock both walked over to the sofa to see what was wrong.

"I think he just lost sight of his Daddies, that's all." Mrs. Hudson said, passing the now quieting Hamish over to John, who kissed his forehead and placed the cotton purple bib around his neck.

A few minutes later, there was a loud knock on the door. John looked to Sherlock who was getting himself a drink.

"That'll be Harry and my parents." John took a deep breath and walked over to the door and opened it.

"John!" Harry waved and clapped him on the shoulder. She seemed happy; though John was worried she was back on the booze. He'd ask Sherlock later. Behind her was his Mother. She was slightly shorter than him and had light blonde and white, wispy hair. Her face was wrinkled slightly by smile lines around her eyes and mouth but her eyes still held her youth. She walked forward and gave John a hug tighter than seemed possible from her appearance. She moved in the room and stood with Harry as John greeted his father.

"John. How are you, son?" He smiled and shook John's hand, grasping his shoulder with the other hand. John winced slightly; that was where he was shot while in Afghanistan.

"I'm well. How are you Dad?"

"Fine. Fine. No rest for an old man…" Sherlock held John's gaze for a moment and John nodded slightly. His father wasn't a bad person; he just had a complicated relationship with his children.

Sherlock stood by the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, surveying the party. Molly sat in John's usual chair, holding Hamish, who it seemed was getting sleepy. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were standing next to her, watching Hamish too. Harry was on John's computer, reading his blog and laughed every so often at one of the cases or just an everyday life entry. John sat on the couch with Mrs. Hudson, who was describing in detail what was happening with her hip. John, the ever kind doctor, was listening and giving her tips to help lessen the pain. Mycroft and Greg were over by the presents, as they had been for most of the party. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He really didn't have anything against the two of them being together; he just found it annoying. Hamish once again was crying and Sherlock looked over. John stood up and took him from Molly. Sherlock met him in the middle of the room.

"He needs to go down for a nap." John said, rocking Hamish lightly in his arms. Hamish's eyes were droopy but his crying was not quieted by his fatigue.

"I'll take him upstairs." Sherlock offered, and John passed Hamish over to him. When Sherlock's figure had disappeared upstairs, John turned to face the room at large.

"So, now that Hamish is going to bed, I think it's safe to open the presents." John had wanted to wait so there was no danger of Hamish trying to eat the wrapping paper. He had taken to sticking anything and almost everything into his mouth recently, and while it was perfectly normal behavior for a baby of 4 months, he didn't want to risk it.

A few minutes later, Sherlock came down with the baby monitor (John could hear Hamish's steady breathing; a telltale sign that he was sleeping) and everyone had pulled up chairs around the couch. Mrs. Hudson had left to sit in another chair, so John and Sherlock could sit next to each other.

Mrs. Hudson had given a packet of disposable diapers (John was really grateful as they were about to run out) and a pink blanket that she had knitted herself. (Mr. Watson had grumbled a little at the color, but John spoke over him so Mrs. Hudson didn't hear.) Harry gave Hamish a little t-shirt that read "I Love My Dads". Molly had also bought some disposable diapers, along with a book about animals, with textures on each page; three different rattles with plastic rings for teething; and a rabbit stuffed animal that played "Twinkle Twinkle" when the tail was pulled. Mycroft had given John and Sherlock a certificate entitling them to a two day stay at the resort of their choice, all expenses paid. He also said that his other gift would arrive soon, though probably not until after everyone had left. Mrs. Watson gave a teddy bear with a nurse's hat and removable stethoscope around its neck. It had a tag around its arm that said "from both of us" but Sherlock saw a look of surprise on Mr. Watson's face when John took the present, that indicated he had never seen it before. Luckily John was too busy laughing at the removable stethoscope to notice. Finally, Greg had gotten Hamish some nontoxic markers that only drew on the paper that came with it (though Hamish would have to be a little older to use that) and a projection soother.

John held up the projection soother and Molly let out a soft 'oo!'

"What's a projection soother?" He asked looking at the back of the package for a description.

"It hooks onto the side of the crib and projects different pictures onto the ceiling." Greg explained, taking a sip of his drink. "This one can be programmed to project any picture, though don't ask me how; I have no idea. The default picture is of the night sky."

Sherlock took the package from John and looked at the example on the back. The 'night sky default' was the actual night sky; not the stars and moon with the happy smiley faces on them.

"I figured you'd like that best, as it's the most scientifically accurate." Greg said, looking at Sherlock.

"Thank you, Greg." Sherlock said quietly. Greg smiled and raised his glass in a toast. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mycroft and the Watsons did the same.

"To the happy couple and their new baby!" Greg said, smiling at John and Sherlock, who were now holding hands. They all drank and John cleared his throat.

"While we're making announcements, there is something Sherlock and I would like to say…" John trailed off, looking at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and John continued.

"When we adopted Hamish, the papers gave us the option to give him godparents. After Sherlock and I talked for a little while, we decided who we wanted. If you would like to, Molly and Greg, we want you to be Hamish's godparents."

Molly's hands flew to her mouth so fast, a loud smack was heard, though she didn't flinch. Greg had been taking a sip of water when the speech was being made and had promptly inhaled all of it when John said his name. Mycroft, who was closest, pounded him on the back a few times.

"Your signatures are still needed in order for this to be official." Sherlock said, looking at each of them in turn. Molly slowly removed her hands from her face and smiled.

"I would be honored to be Hamish's godmother." She said, a happy tear sliding down her cheek. She stood and hugged Sherlock, then John.

"You really want me to be the godfather?" Greg asked, apparently still in shock. John nodded.

"Only if you want to be." Greg nodded slowly and smiled.

"I'd love to." He followed Molly's lead and hugged both John and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson started clapping, and was quickly followed by the Watsons and Mycroft.

After that, the party ended rather quickly. Greg said goodbye, saying he needed to catch the train to visit his children. Mycroft offered to give him a ride to the station, at which Sherlock groaned, and Greg accepted. Molly left soon after as she had a date with Mathew and needed to tell him the news of her new position as godmother. Harry stayed for about half an hour longer, but then had to catch the train back home. John walked her to the door, though she insisted she could catch a cab on her own. Soon it was just John, Sherlock and Mr. and Mrs. Watson.

"I think I should get Hamish up from his nap now." Sherlock said standing. "Otherwise he might not sleep tonight." John nodded and Sherlock slipped upstairs to get their son.

"Would you like any more lemonade Dad?" John asked, clearing the last paper plates and cups out of the living room and placing them in the garbage.

"No thanks John. I think I'm set."

"How about you Mum?"

"I'd just like some water. Thank you sweetie." John took her cup into the kitchen and came back with her drink just as Sherlock walked down the stairs with Hamish in his arms.

"Would you like to hold him?" Sherlock asked Mrs. Watson. She smiled and nodded.

"Oh, he's so sweet!" She said softly as Hamish curled into her and cooed.

"Sherlock, why don't you grab his new blanket? I'm sure he'd like to get used to it before it goes in his crib." Sherlock grabbed the hand knit blanket and placed it around Hamish who instantly stuck the corner into his mouth.

"Now that's something I don't understand." Mr. Watson said, looking at Hamish with slight disdain.

"Babies Hamish's age always put things into their mouths." John said, sitting in his usual chair next to Sherlock who was perched on the arm. "It's how they explore."

"Not that." Mr. Watson said, frowning. "Why did you let him have a pink blanket? He's a boy, not a girl!" Sherlock frowned.

"Boys can have pink things too, Dad." John said, exasperated.

"But I mean, look at it!" Mr. Watson exclaimed, taking one corner of the blanket into his hand. "It has frills and lace around the edges!"

"That's for texture." Sherlock said quietly, his eyes slightly narrowed. "It's to make the blanket more interesting for Hamish." Sure enough, Hamish was pulling on the lace on his corner and poking his small fingers through it. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had done an excellent job on sewing the lace, as it didn't so much as budge from the blanket.

"I suppose it's up to you whether you raise your son to be a pansy…" Mr. Watson said, shrugging. Mrs. Watson looked up at him, frowning.

"Harold! That's quite enough!"

"I'm not saying anything about sexuality, Julia!" Mr. Watson protested. "God knows I tried hard enough and I got two homosexual children… I just don't want to see my only grandson raised to be feminine!"

"A pink blanket isn't going to make him feminine, Dad!" John said, his face growing hot at that last statement. His father wasn't homophobic, but homosexuality did make him uncomfortable.

"I'm just saying-" Sherlock cleared his throat and Mr. Watson looked at him. "Yes?"

"I think it is up to John and me to decide how to raise _our_ child. Mrs. Hudson made that blanket out of the goodness of her heart. If you don't like it, by all means, don't look at it, but do not force your ignorant opinions on me and my husband."

Mrs. Watson looked back and forth from Mr. Watson and Sherlock as if watching a silent tennis match. John clenched and unclenched his left hand. Mr. Watson looked as though he had been slapped.

"I… am sorry if I offended you." He said finally, looking at Sherlock with a mix of anger and respect. "Julia dear, I think we better get going. Our train leaves in about an hour." John looked at his mother.

"Did you want something to eat before you go, Mum?" Mrs. Watson stood and passed Hamish over to Sherlock.

"No, I'm afraid your father is right. We really do have to leave." John nodded.

"Well, at least let me call you a cab." John stood and led his parents outside while Sherlock held Hamish.

Around 8 o'clock that evening John and Sherlock sat on the couch, John resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Well, overall I guess you could say our party went pretty well." John said, sighing slightly. Hamish was upstairs, fast asleep with his new blanket and teddy bear, and the night sky above him. When Sherlock had turned it on, Hamish had stared at it, wide eyed, but soon got used to it and fell asleep.

"You did a wonderful job planning." Sherlock said, kissing John's head. John sighed again.

"I'm sorry about Dad. He's just like that…"

"Don't let it get to you, John." Sherlock said, quietly. "He's your son, and will be raised the way you want. Not the way someone as incompetent as him thinks is 'right'." John laughed a little and closed his eyes.

"It's been a long day."

No sooner had the words left John's mouth than the doorbell rang. John and Sherlock looked at each other.

"It must be the gift Mycroft bought." John opened the door, and they found a large package on their doorstep. John slid it into the middle of the room and Sherlock cut the tape with scissors. John opened the box and he and Sherlock peered into it curiously.

"No…" Sherlock said smiling.

"Oh, he didn't!" John said, pulling a note out of the box. Inside was a fully built baby bouncer seat.

"Hamish will love this!" Sherlock said, ripping the rest of the box apart and carrying the bouncer over to sit next to Hamish's play pin.

"'_Dear Sherlock and John'_" John read.

_The games in the bouncer are all educational. Some teach colors while others teach letters and numbers. They do sing, but don't worry, there is a mute button. This also has the ability to fold up so you can bring it with you if you go on a trip. I hope this comes in good use._

_~Mycroft_

John folded up the paper again and looked at Sherlock who was looking at the shapes and their respective places on the table surrounding the bouncer.

"This is… just… wow." John said, moving the box into the kitchen recycling bin and leaning against the wall.

"That was very thoughtful of Mycroft." Sherlock said, following his husband. John laughed

"Oh no…" Sherlock closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as John paused, listening to Hamish's cries through the baby monitor.

"This has got to be the third time he's woken up…" Sherlock complained.

"Hey…" John turned to look at his husband. Sherlock turned, though winced when Hamish continued to cry. "We can do this, Sherlock." Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes.

"We can do this." Sherlock repeated after John and smiled.

"We can do this." John took Sherlock's hand, and together, they walked upstairs to take care of their child. Hamish Arthur Watson-Holmes.


End file.
